One Time, In Then Woods
by MyDearLadyDisdain
Summary: Two lonely teenagers confined to a tent are liable to make big mistakes. Oneshot


...

It had all started in the tent, and no matter how hard they tried after, they couldn't kill the thing that grew between them.

It was a lonely November evening, and the rain was lashing against the canvas roof.

Harry was reading in his bunk. Sorry, he was pretending to read in his bunk. He stared listlessly at the book he held, and thought about how miserable their lives had become since Ron had run out. Not that things were great before.

It started when Hermione suddenly appeared next to his bunk. Without saying a word, she climbed in, and settled herself right next to Harry.

Harry was confounded by this.

"Is everything alright?" He asked her. Hermione nodded. Though they were merely sitting next to each other, something about this situation raised goosebumps on Harry's skin.

He heard a sniff from Hermione, and wordlessly, she put her cheek on his shoulder.

Harry thought he knew what do; he put his book to the side, and slid a comforting arm around Hermione's thin shoulders. She curled into him immediately, bringing her knees up, and resting her head against Harry's chest.

They sat like that for long minutes.

Harry thought they might fall asleep like that, holding each other. It was, he had to admit, very comforting, to have a friend so close to you. For a second, the world didn't seem as bleak and hostile.

He was pulled back into reality when he sensed Hermione's movement. He thought she might be getting up, but he was wrong. Her hand came up to her chest, and she started fiddling with the buttons on her shirt.

Harry watched mesmerized as her fingers undid the top button. He thought that was it, but then she started working on the next. He sat completely still, watching her hands work.

She got to three buttons. When he looked down at her, he could just see the gentle curve of her cleavage, and the rim of a blue bra, under her shirt.

Looking down at her chest, Harry felt his face grow warm. He knew he shouldn't be doing that, but the curve of it drew his eyes. It was magnetic.

He looked up and caught Hermione's eye, noticing with embarrassment that she was watching him. The witch had a determined set to her features.

"We might die." She stated. "They could catch us tomorrow. We could die any day, you know." She didn't have any fear in her voice, just a resignation. Harry was reeling. Was she saying goodbye too? First Ron, and then Hermione? His mouth went dry.

"I know." He said. If she wanted to leave, he would let her go. Maybe she could find Ron, and the two could go into hiding together. They could survive.

But leaving was not what was on Hermione's mind that night.

Her hand left her shirt buttons alone, and instead found Harry's hand. She gently traced a pattern on it with her index finger. Almost subconsciously, Harry's hand opened, and he wound their fingers together.

This must have encouraged Hermione because she sat up, and looked directly into Harry's eyes. He couldn't read the emotions that played on her features. He had never been good at knowing what girls were thinking. Like for example, now. Why had Hermione exposed her chest to him? Maybe she was just overly warm, and he was being a horrible, vulgar bloke for taking another glancing look.

Harry sensed that Hermione was waiting. Perhaps he was supposed to do something, but for the life of him, he could figure out what she wanted. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, Hermione decided to move again. He was sitting, propped against the magically solid wall of the tent, with his legs straight out in front of him. Hermione shifted herself, and threw one leg over him.

She was straddling his thighs, and this was now very far from a friendly hug. Harry was lost in the events that were unfolding. He let his arms lay at his sides, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

Hermione brought her hands back to her shirt. She looked down, and Harry thought he saw her cheeks turn red. She started deftly undoing more and more buttons on her shirt. All he could do was sit, and watch her, his throat going dry, and his pulse quickening.

When she was done with the bottom button, she paused, and then slid the long sleeves of the plaid shirt off. She let it fall beside the bunk bed. Harry swallowed. Was he supposed to look at her? It didn't matter, since he couldn't stop himself, even if he wanted to. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, and the swells of her breasts looked constricted by the fabric of the bra.

Looking up, Harry felt heat pooling in his face when he realised Hermione was watching him again. He noticed that he was starting to get hard, and, mortified that Hermione might feel him, he tried to shift so that he was not touching her leg with his organ. It was difficult to accomplish this, since Hermione had practically trapped him underneath her.

"Er...I'm sorry…" he said, referring to the staredown he gave her chest.

"Why?" she asked, "I want you to look."

Harry's heart started hammering against his chest. She wanted to him to look? Harry was about to protest, but found that his gaze couldn't be torn from Hermione's exposed torso. The simple, blue bra was so tight around her rib cage. He wished he could loosen it.

"They're, er, very nice…" he said, thinking that maybe Hermione was asking his opinion. Why else would she want him to look at her?

Hermione actually chortled.

"Thanks." She said, with a half smile.

She reached out and took one of Harry's hands. She brought it to her, and guiding it, placed the palm of his hand on her stomach. Her skin was warm, and so soft, and Harry could feel it rise and fall with every breath she took.

She let his hand rest there for a second, and then started to slowly guide it up. Harry was entranced and terrified at the same time. He had never seen this much of a girl, and had certainly never touched…

"I haven't done this before." Hermione said quietly, echoing Harry's thoughts. "Feels nice." She added.

Harry nodded briskly. Then, to make sure she understood that it also felt very nice for him, choked out a quiet "Yeah."

Harry's palm was covering her breast, and he could feel the exposed top, above the bra, with his finger tip. He dared not move his hand, allowing her to be in complete control. He still truthfully had no idea what was happening.

Hermione pointedly looked at his other hand.

Harry thought he knew what she meant. He mustered every bit of his courage, and lifted his left hand. He tentatively hovered it over her abdomen, looking up at her to make sure he was doing what she wanted.

Hermione nodded.

He gently placed it against her stomach, and slowly, like she had done with his other hand, started tracing a path upwards.

Heart in his throat, Harry realised he now had both palms pressing against a girl's breasts. Nevermind they were Hermione's breasts. The confusion of his situation was only surpassed by his excitement. He could hardly think of anything else at the moment.

Hermione suddenly took a deep breath, which pushed her chest against his palms. Without meaning to, his fingers contracted, and his thumbs traced the outline of the bra, where skin met fabric.

He was about to pull away, and apologise, when Hermione brought her hands up, and covered his, restraining them against her chest.

"Do that again?" She asked, timidly.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak, so he only nodded. Hermione's hands still resting on his, he lightly pushed against her chest, his thumbs tracing that curve again, hoping to get lost under it. He then pressed her breasts together. It created a thin wrinkle in her skin, and Harry had to clenched his jaw together. He thought he heard Hermione gasp, but wasn't sure if she liked this, or if he was hurting her.

Hermione started pushing against his hands, rhythmically, and he kept pressing, massaging her through the fabric of the bra. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

When she opened them, she stopped. Harry, following her cue, stilled his hands.

"Can I see you?" She asked.

Harry wasn't sure what she meant, but it became quite clear, when her hands reached down and started tugging at his shirt. He was nervous, taking it off, but figured it was only fair. He had seen her, after all.

When they clumsily got rid of his shirt, Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious. He was pale, and skinny, and had coarse black hair running from pelvis, to his stomach, and even to his chest. He thought it must look unsightly, compared to Hermione, who was soft and smooth.

Hermione placed her hands on his stomach, and he felt his muscles contract where she touched him. She ran her hands ups his abs, and across his chest. When her fingers brushed against his nipple, he felt electricity shooting through his body. For a moment, Harry was scared he might do accidental magic.

Hermione's hands left his chest without warning. She bent them awkwardly behind her back. Harry heard a soft snap, and the bra around Hermione's chest loosened. He held his breath, afraid to make any movement.

Slowly, holding his eyes the entire time, Hermione slid the fabric off, and let it join the pile of discarded shirts on the floor.

Harry swallowed back a moan. Or, at least he thought it might be a moan. He was unsure what kind of noise he would make, if he were to open his mouth.

Hermione had her arms folded across her chest. He could only see a slip of what was beneath. Blushing deeply, Hermione slowly unwound her two shapes were perfect, suspended on her chest, with the tips rising slightly. Hardly noticing what his hands were doing, Harry found that they were edging upwards, longing to touch the delicate flesh.

He looked up at her, trying to ask without words if it was okay to touch. She bit her bottom lip. Her hands came up to his, and like before, guided them over her exposed skin. Her breasts were so soft, and yielded so easily, Harry couldn't stop himself from pressing, and kneading them with his fingers. It felt amazing. He was sure he had never felt anything so wonderful in his entire life.

Hermione let out a breath, and then another, and started to press herself against his hands. Her own palms found their way across his chest. They glided over his collarbone, and found their way into Harry's hair. She wound them through the strands, grasping, and pulling very lightly.

Harry looked down and saw that he was straining through his trousers. His jeans had become very uncomfortable, and he was dearly hoping Hermione had not noticed the visible bulge next to her knee.

As it happened, Hermione had noticed. Her eyes widened slightly, and she tentatively place a hand on his upper thigh, right next to his erection. Harry's face felt very warm.

"Can I touch you?" Her voice came from above.

Harry thought it would not do to deny her, while he was busy groping at her chest.

"Er, yeah, go ahead." He managed to say.

She brushed her thumb against him, and then more deliberately, traced a finger along his length. Even through the thick material of the jeans, Harry could feel the warmth of her fingertips, and he let out a short, choked sound from deep in his throat.

Hermione looked up at him with curiosity. She tried again, tracing her thumb up and down his length. Harry's pelvis arched, his body craving more contact.

He had never gotten this far with Ginny. They had only kissed, and Harry's hands had always stayed chastely away from any 'sensitive area.' The thought of her popped in his head and he felt a guilty wrench in his heart. He shouldn't be doing this. Hasn't he promised to stay faithful to Ginny?

"Maybe we shouldn't…" Harry started to say.

"You don't want to?" Hermione said, the hurt in her voice was so poignant that Harry was lost for words.

Of course he wanted to. With her hand lying along his length, and his own hands fondling her breasts, Harry only knew that he certainly did not want to stop.

He liked Ginny, and missed her dearly. And, as far as he knew, Hermione fancied Ron. But neither of them were here, and Hermione was right. They could die tomorrow.

"Do you want me to stop?" He heard Hermione's voice again.

Harry fervently shook his head. _Don't stop,_ he thought, as her hands slid against him again and again. He wondered how much better it would be if he was not covered up with jeans at the moment.

Hermione bent closer to him. The tips of her hair was tickling his chest.

"I think," she whispered, right next to his ear, "I think we should do it."

Harry swallowed his panic. He reflected that right now he was much more frightened than when he faced off against a fifty foot Hungarian Horntail. The conclusion that girls were scarier than dragons was almost too easy to make.

Of course, the fear did not override the newfound sense of excitement that buzzed through his whole nervous system. There was only one problem with Hermione's proposal. Harry decided he might as well vocalize it.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, feeling his face burn as he said it.

"I don't either!" Hermione gasped, and the two teenagers locked eyes. It took a moment, but then Hermione giggled, and they both dissolved into fits of laughter. For a second they were both children again, best friends caught in an odd situation.

"Okay, it's not a problem." Hermione sobered up, "we'll just… do what feels good."

"Right…" Harry wasn't sure what that meant. How far did Hermione want to go? Everything they had done so far had felt very good to him. Good enough, that he could barely think about anything outside of their canvas bubble, alone in the deep, dark woods. Somewhere, he knew, were Ron and Ginny. And that's as far as he train of thought went, before crashing spectacularly, when Hermione started rubbing against him again.

She moved her hips experimentally. Her hands found Harry's shoulders, and locked there, presumably to give her balance. She tried again, her thighs creating friction against his pelvis.

Harry felt a warm surge through his lower half. He was wondering what Hermione might be feeling, while his whole body trembled. Why had he never done this before? It was a rising, bubbling feeling, that felt better than catching a snitch, or eating chocolate, or…

Something took over Harry's brain, and he grabbed Hermione's hips and began to mirror her movements. He thought he heard a breathy sigh from above him, and it didn't seem like she minded his participation.

Hermione took the lead again, blindly fumbling with the metal button on Harry's jeans. This time, he wasn't so hesitant to reach out and try to reciprocate. It only took a few moments for Hermione to pull off her trousers, a little awkwardly, and one leg at a time. When she saw that Harry had not done the same, Hermione gave him a slightly cross look, that seemed to suggest he was late getting on his homework, and she thought him irresponsible for it.

Harry pulled the jeans off, and again, was rather embarrassed that his own body seemed to be so far below the standard presented by Hermione's.

They continued much in the same manner, Hermione less shy now somehow. The rising feeling in Harry's chest was liable to make his heart waltz out of his throat, and he could barely keep from panting.

He didn't know much about sex, almost nothing at all, actually. But he did know that a bloke was not supposed to finish while his pants were still on.

He took all the self control he had left, and holding Hermione in place, scooted back.

"I just need a minute," he said, when she shot him a questioning look.

The moment of pause must have brought reality back into Hermione's mind.

She looked down and he could see her cheeks blazing.

"Maybe that's enough for tonight, then." She said, her arms winding around her exposed torso.

Harry mutely nodded to show his understanding, and tried to look as content as possible with her decision.

He thought that she would start getting dressed again, but it seemed that Harry was getting much worse at predicting the witch's motives. She moved next to him, and climbed under his blanket. Feeling the chill, sans trousers and shirt, Harry did the same.

Hermione threw her arms around him, which made Harry feel like an oversized, stuffed bear.

She went to sleep after some time, not mentioning whether either of them should take watch. Harry did not-could not-fall asleep. Laying next to her warmth for nearly an hour, he resolved himself to getting up and throwing on all of his abandoned clothes.

He took the watch that night.

…

Please review! It makes me so very happy :)


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